


When Writing Your History

by affectingly



Category: American Idol RPF, David Cook (Musician)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Consent Issues, Drunk Sex, F/M, POV Original Character, Rough Sex, Slut Shaming, Somnophilia (slight)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/affectingly/pseuds/affectingly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love doesn’t always happen the way it’s supposed to. Sometimes, we miss our chance for something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Writing Your History

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ in 2009.
> 
> WARNING: There is a scene where the OFC is asleep and David initiates sexual contact before she is awake to give consent. However, once she wakes up, consent is given/she is not upset by the contact.

The first time they meet, she’s in Oklahoma visiting friends. She’s drunk and David’s stoned. He laughs at her jokes, or maybe just at her. It doesn’t matter. She knows who he is, is already enthralled by everything about him. It’s a crowded bar and she pushes him into a corner and whispers promises of a blow job.

David grins and lets her lead him into the bathroom. She goes down right there on the dirty tile floor. She doesn’t fuck with a condom, just wraps her lips around his cock and lets him twist his hands into her hair too hard. Her fingers find their way into her cotton panties, rub at her clit frantically. She comes fast, the sound of his heavy breathing, the heady feeling of him in her mouth working her into a frenzy. He takes a little longer to come, but she doesn’t mind, just swallows him down when he finally does.

David thanks her with a raw voice and pulls her up for a kiss. She thinks the thank you is a little out of place, but he’s polite and adorable even in a seedy bar bathroom and it just makes her want him more. But someone is banging on the door and they both grin guiltily and button themselves up, leaving to find their respective friends. When she gets up the next morning, she finds his number scribbled on a matchbook in her pocket.

\--

She works up the nerve to call him when she happens to be in Saint Louis on business the same time he’s there for the American Idol tour. David sounds genuinely glad to hear from her, if frantically busy. He asks her if she would mind meeting him later, much later, at his hotel, says he’ll leave her a key at the front desk.

She knows it’s probably not a good idea to do this, to be that girl, but she just can’t bring herself to care. She gets there just before midnight and goes up to his room, falls asleep waiting for him. He wakes her up with his hand down the front of her jeans, two fingers pressed inside of her as his thumb circles on her clit.

His mouth is on hers, other hand cupping the side of her face as he kisses her. She accidentally bites his bottom lip when she climaxes. He smirks at her, his lip glistening red before he licks the blood away.

Then he’s pulling off of her and sighing. “I’m sorry. I got in a lot later than I thought I would. In fact, I shouldn’t even be up here. The buses are waiting on me to leave for the next city.”

“Oh,” she says, still a little groggy from sleep.

“I was just going to come up here to tell you goodbye, but when I saw you…” he trails off with another smile and she feels herself blushing. She’s not sure why.

“Anyway, do you ever make it out to LA?”

She laughs without meaning to and sits up. “Um, I live in Studio City.”

It’s David’s turn to blush. “Oh.”

\--

She doesn’t figure she’ll ever see or hear from David again once she gets back to Los Angeles, even if he did swear he saved her number in his phone. She just tucks the memories away as a surreal adventure and tries not to think about them too much.

It’s been months, almost four, and she can’t make herself date someone else, let alone have sex with them. Her friends are all weirded out. She’s not the kind of girl who sits around and pines. She really doesn’t mean to, but every time a guy hits on her in a bar, her mind flies straight to Oklahoma. She wakes up at night with dreams of Saint Louis, pussy clenching around nothing, hips arching into the air.

He calls when it’s been exactly four months. “Um, hi. It’s Dave.”

As if she didn’t know. “Oh, hey.”

“What are you doing tonight?”

She’s got plans with her roommate to stay in, watch True Blood and eat ice cream in their pajamas. “Nothing.”

“Good.”

David invites her out for drinks. It feels odd at first, like they’re going about everything backwards. They only get through one round when she leans across the table and suggests they get out of here. And, fuck, is she trying to sabotage any chance for more? Does she care when he’s got his hand on her thigh the whole drive to his place? When it slips high enough for him to realize she isn’t wearing underwear beneath her skirt, the engine roars as he accelerates.

They don’t even make it past the kitchen. David crowds her against the wall, pushes her skirt up to her stomach and falls to his knees. He drapes one of her legs over his shoulder and fucks her with his tongue. Murmurs how good she tastes, the low vibrations making her moan, twist one hand into his hair, the other clinging to the door jamb next to her for balance. He sucks her clit into his mouth, between his teeth, flicks back and forth with his tongue until she comes, until her hips are rutting against him uncontrollably.

She’s panting and whimpering, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, and a whine builds at the back of her throat because she doesn’t know if she can keep upright, but it feels so fucking good. His hand joins his mouth, and he pushes three fingers in and her head goes back on a moan so quickly she nearly knocks herself out against the wall. He curls them in, finds that spot that makes her lose all control. He places the other hand on her stomach to hold her steady while his tongue traces figure eights until she’s shaking from head to toe, calling out his name.

David doesn’t make her walk afterwards – she’s pretty sure she couldn’t have anyway. He just picks her up and carries her to the couch, bends her over the edge and fucks her until she’s almost crying it’s so good.

\--

The next time they fuck, it’s better than she could have imagined. The way his mouth feels on her neck, just below her ear; the way his breath stutters just a little when he first slips inside her – it drives her crazy. He leaves marks on her hips where he holds her, little fingertip shaped bruises, and she even finds teeth marks on her shoulder and can’t remember when they got there.

They go for hours, he won’t stop until she’s coming so hard her vision goes white around the edges. All the while he’s whispering into her skin, pretty-filthy things that make her cunt ache, make her so wet it smears across her thighs and his thighs and the sheets. In those moments, she begs with wrecked, throaty pleas, “David, fuck me. Fuckmefuckmefuckme. Make it hurt, please, baby. Oh God, right – right there – oh fuck.”

She doesn’t care that it sounds ridiculous if she thinks about it outside of the moment. When David’s in her, when he’s got her hips tilted up at just the right angle so that every time he hits home she nearly blacks out, she can’t help it. Her hands twist up into his hair, tug on the semi-long strands, and she loves the way it makes him groan against her neck.

When they lay in bed afterwards, fucked out and warm, they talk. He tells her things that he never says in interviews, things that he never lets onto when the cameras are rolling and the fans are screaming his name. It makes her feel special.

She tells him about her hopes and dreams, how she moved out here from a little town in Nebraska with nothing but her car, packed to the roof with every earthly possession she had. She wants to write for TV or movies, but for now she just reviews those things for an entertainment website. He tells her he knows she’ll make it.

In the morning, they fuck slow and deep. David kisses her like she’s the only woman in the world, and that’s when she knows she’s ruined.

\-- 

It’s been a year since they first met. She feels desperate and dirty and even a little afraid that maybe she’s let this fling go too far, that maybe she’s beginning to care more than she says she does. She tries to push those thoughts as far out of her mind as she can, even as she answers David’s calls all hours of the day, meets him in his apartment, at a hotel, in a bar. Even though she knows it can’t go on like this forever, when they’re together she lets herself pretend it’s enough.

She hears girls whisper when she’s around David, jealous and bitter vitriol that would normally make her hair stand on end. They call her a starfucker, a groupie and a slut, but she ignores them. She forgets them as soon as he’s got his tongue pushed inside of her mouth and his dick in her palm.

\--

She hasn’t heard from him for a few weeks. It’s not out of the ordinary, really. He’s gearing up for his next tour, doing promotional stuff for the new album. It doesn’t bother her when she catches snatches of interviews on E! or MTV and he’s talking about how he’s single. She understands -- it’s part of show business.

Then a picture of David kissing some starlet of the minute is on the cover of every tabloid magazine from here to London, and she has to remind herself she’s got no right. She has no claim over him. That’s not what they are to each other. She knows that.

When Meredith and Derek break up for the sixth time on Grey’s Anatomy that week and she cries a little harder than really warranted, her roommate is good enough not to say anything. She just really thought Meredith and Derek were going to make it work this time.

\--

“So…” She can’t make herself ask the question she knows she should, not over the phone. Of course, it’d probably be even worse in person.

David sighs heavily into the receiver and it crackles over the line. He doesn’t make her ask. “It’s not serious.”

“I – um, it doesn’t m-”

He cuts her off. “Don’t say it doesn’t matter. I know it does.”

She shakes her head even though he can’t see her, is eternally glad for that fact when she brushes an errant tear away from her cheek. “Of course it doesn’t. We’re not together. We’re just friends, David.”

He’s silent for a while, and she fidgets nervously, just listening to his steady breathing. “You mean that?” he finally asks.

His voice sounds strange to her, quiet and almost monotone. She takes a deep breath and can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. “What else can I say?”

“I can’t believe you.”

The anger breaks open inside of her faster than she can reign it in, and she snaps back, “You can’t believe me? You’re the one running around with that Lindsay Lohan wannabe. What the hell do you want from me?”

“I want you to give a damn! I want you to tell me you hate it. Tell me to stop seeing her!” He’s shouting now, and she wonders if he’s been drinking. He never shouts.

“You just want me to be jealous because it makes you feel good. I’m not here to stroke your ego!”

“No, just my dick, right?”

She sucks in a sharp breath and says low, “You’re an asshole.”

“Damn it, I just want –”

Cutting him off, she shouts, “You just want me to what, David? Fine, I hate that you had your hands all over that tramp. I hate that you let it get plastered all over the fucking tabloids and that you’ve probably been fucking her the whole time you’ve been in New York. I hate that it drives me crazy with jealousy when it shouldn’t. I hate that it makes me sick to my stomach when you tell every asshole journalist who asks that you’re single, that there’s no one special. And most of all I hate that I do care this much and it doesn’t matter because you’re too scared to make us something more. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“That’s not fair.”

Suddenly she doesn’t have the energy to fight with him and she’s trying desperately to keep her voice from cracking, from a sob slipping through. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

He sounds deflated when he answers, “Fine, let’s just talk about this when I get back in town on Sunday.”

“No, I mean… I mean I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t.”

“Oh.” It’s hollow, cold.

“David, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I guess I, uh… Yeah.”

“I wish -”

“Don’t.”

“All right,” she says.

“Bye.”

“Bye, David.”

\--

Months slip by, and she feels okay again. Then suddenly it’s been another year, and then another, and she’s got a new life and a new career. She sees him on billboards and on television sometimes, but all she feels is an odd sense of nostalgia. He’s doing pretty well for himself, too; probably has a few shelves in his home for all the awards he’s collected.

Sometimes she itches to call him again, just to say she’s happy for him, but she knows it would devolve into a discussion of all the regrets she has, all the things they did wrong. So, she just smiles to herself when his songs come on the radio, tries not to look for meaning in lyrics that weren’t meant for her.

It was probably too much to hope that they’d never run into each other again, though. Los Angeles is a deceptively small town, especially when you’re in any aspect of the entertainment industry. She’s out celebrating an Emmy nod with the other writers of the show she works for, just your generic Hollywood hotspot, and there he is.

He’s with his brother and Michael, and damn, she didn’t know they were still friends. It makes her oddly happy that he managed to hold onto that. Though truth be told, it was probably Johns who did the holding on. It still makes her feel like maybe a part of the David she once knew is still there, even after all the success and the accolades.

She’s not going to say anything, doesn’t even think he notices she’s two tables over. She looks different now. She’s gained about fifteen pounds, has shorter, darker hair, and she’s got her glasses on, hardly ever wears contacts anymore. She just drinks her martinis and jokes with her coworkers and friends and forces herself not to look at his table again.

Later, she gets up to go to the restroom. She totters on her heels and can’t help laughing loudly. “Whoops, think it’s caught up to me,” she says, and everyone at her table laughs, too.

She almost makes it to the back when someone grabs her by the wrist, pulls her out the side door into the alley. She knows it’s him even as her back hits the rough brick and his thigh presses between her legs.

“David,” she says breathlessly.

“I almost wasn’t sure it was you. It was driving me crazy all night. I kept looking over, couldn’t keep my eyes away. And then I heard that laugh of yours, and I knew.” He’s right up in her personal space, body to body, hands holding her at her waist.

He still looks just like she remembers – same ridiculous eyelashes, same stupidly expressive eyes, same freckles, same pink mouth, even the same artfully spiked hair, though it’s got a few new color variations in it, might be a little longer in the back.

“I hate when your hair is long in the back,” she says out of some insane reflex she didn’t even realize she was still harboring.

He laughs then, and his smile is just like she remembered, too. A familiar ache blooms in her chest and she looks down, but there’s nothing to see except the way he’s holding her.

“David,” she says again, but this time her voice breaks. She turns her face away, looks out at the empty alleyway. A few smokers linger at the end where the sidewalk is, and the busy street beyond that. They’re probably paparazzi, and if they figure out it’s David out here it’ll get insane very quickly. “We can’t do this.”

Hurt flashes across his features before he steps back like she burned him. “Right, sorry,” he says, sounding angry.

“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant out here. We can’t do this out here.” She gestures towards the smokers who seem to be taking a bigger interest in them.

“Fuck, I didn’t even think about it.”

She’s about to reply when the door from the club swings open and Michael’s head pops out. “Dave?”

“What’s up?”

Michael’s eyes flick to her and his expression widens with recognition. They’ve only met a handful of times before, but he obviously remembers her. “Hey.”

That’s when the shouts start up. “David!”

“David, over here!”

“Balls,” Michael says, as they all look towards the oncoming swarm of cameras.

David takes her by the hand and leads her back into the building before they get too close, the door swinging shut behind them. Michael points over his shoulder and turns to leave, obviously heading back to the table to inform Andrew.

“Wow, I don’t ever remember that happening before. Not like that,” she says into the awkward silence. “I mean, I figured it was different for you now, but I –”

“You still ramble.”

She huffs, but still nods in agreement. “Yeah.”

He sighs, leans against the wall as he stares at her. “I’ve missed you.”

She can’t help but smile at that, even as she knows it’s setting her back two and a half years without him even trying. “Missed you, too. Though I still hear a lot. Things seem to be going well for you.”

“Yeah, and I was watching TV and saw your name pop up in a writing credit. Told you it’d happen.”

“You did,” she acknowledges.

David glances over his shoulder and then back at her. “I came with them. You drive here yourself?” he asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“Listen, do you maybe want to get out of here? Go catch up someplace quiet?” David sticks his hands in his pocket and rocks back on his heels, a nervous habit she guesses he never got rid of.

It’s a really bad idea to go with him. She knows how this goes. They talk for a while, sure, but then… Then she’s on her knees, on her back – hell, even on her feet – moaning his name. But fuck if she can actually say no to him. “Sure, we can do that.”

He lights up, and right then she knows it’s worth it, no matter how this ends.

\--

His home is a lot different than the apartment he had before. It was a really nice place, sure, but now he’s got a house – a mansion, more like it. Her jaw drops as they pull past the opening gate and up the drive. She’s doing well for herself now, but there’s doing well and then there’s owning a fucking mansion in the Hollywood hills.

“Room for each award?” she jokes.

David makes an amused noise and shakes his head. “Nah, just the Grammys.”

She rolls her eyes, but she doubts he sees her in the dark. She parks in front of the garages, and they sit there silently for a long while. She stares up at the sky, uncommonly clear tonight, and he stares at her. She can feel his eyes on her, isn’t surprised at all when she finally turns towards him and sees him looking back.

The silence stretches out, all the things they want to say but can’t floating between them. Then David lets his head fall back against the headrest, stares up at the ceiling. “You know, that last time we talked on the phone, I went two weeks thinking it wasn’t really over. That I’d get an email from you or a text message. By the time I realized you’d meant it, I pretended it was too late. I couldn’t bring myself to take the chance you’d say goodbye again.”

She doesn’t tell him that if he had called, she would never have been able to do it a second time. The back of her throat is burning and she can feel tears brimming in her eyes. She blinks rapidly, trying to hold them off. She nods her understanding, unable to make herself speak.

“You were right, though. I was an asshole back then.”

“But not now?”

“I try.”

Her shaky laugh probably gives her away, but it’s okay. David sounds wrecked himself. She takes a deep, steadying breath. “For what it’s worth, I was afraid then, too.”

He shakes his head. “I call bullshit. You’ve never been afraid of anything.”

She hides her face behind her hands for a second and then looks back up at him. He frowns at her, clearly expecting some kind of explanation.

“Christ, I still can’t say it. I haven’t been in the same room with you in two years and I still can’t look you in the eyes and tell you,” she says, banging her hand against the steering wheel.

David reaches out, rests his hand on the side of her neck and pulls her toward him. She can feel the crash coming, but she can’t stop it. Their lips touch and she shivers all over, can’t breathe and doesn’t want to. Her lips part against his, and everything she’s been trying to keep control of inside her snaps like a rubber band stretched too far.

She jerks away from him, gasping for air. “Get out. You have to go. I’m sorry, I can’t be here. I can’t do this to myself again.”

He stares back at her in shock. “But –”

“Get out, David, please.”

He sits there for a few more seconds before he nods, almost like he’s thinking about something else entirely. “All right. I’m going.”

He opens the door and steps out, turning as he closes it behind himself. As it shuts, he says, “I’m sorry.”

\--

She’s halfway down the block when her phone rings. “Yeah?”

“Come back,” is all he says because he knows, somehow. He’s figured it out.

She turns around before she even tells him, “Okay.”

The car’s barely in park and shut off before he’s opening her door and pulling her out. He holds her face between his hands and whispers, “Just say it. Say it because I need to hear it. Say it because it’s already over.”

She shudders, clings at the front of his shirt. “I loved you.”

He sighs with evident relief, leans in until their foreheads are touching. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when it meant something, but I did, too. I loved you.”

It breaks her heart and lifts a weight off her chest at the same time. Because he’s right, it is already over. They can’t go back. They can’t push a reset button and try again. “I know.”

And then she’s pulling him down, and their lips meet again and this time there’s no panic, no fear and confusion. This time it’s a perfect goodbye.

She doesn’t really know how they end up stumbling up the drive and into his house, but then he’s lifting her up and she’s wrapping her legs around his waist. He carries her to his bedroom, his mouth on hers, on her neck, her collar bone. His teeth graze sensitive skin and her breath catches. He chuckles and hot puffs of air tickle her skin.

Shoes and belts, shirts and pants are shed, discarded onto the floor, and he drags her down onto the bed. God, and this, this above everything else she remembers. The way he touches her like he can’t get enough, how he uses his tongue and his teeth to make her desperate for him; she could never forget this.

She reaches down, wraps her hand around his dick, loves the way his hips fuck up into her touch. They roll until she’s on top of him and she’s straddling his stomach, and he growls. “I can feel how wet you are. God, you always get so fucking wet for me.”

It’s true, she’s never fucked anyone who makes her feel like David does. She rubs against him, leans down until she can kiss him. His hands cup her ass, dig in, and she hopes to God he’s leaving marks, wants to feel him on her for days.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she whispers into his mouth, encourages him.

He flips them again, hand moving around until it’s between her thighs. The minute his fingers slide against her clit she arches into his touch. His mouth is on her nipples, sucking and biting, and his fingers are moving rapidly against her. She comes faster than she thought she would, it catches her by surprise as she clenches around nothing. It fucking aches, and when he finally slips two fingers inside, lets her screw down onto them over and over, it feels too fucking good.

“David, fu-fuck,” she stutters when she comes again.

She’s not even all the way down from the aftershocks when he bends over her, tangles a hand in her hair and grips her side while he slides into her. He pulls on her hair, forcing her head back, exposing her neck – sucks a mark into it and then whispers into her ear, “I love making you come.”

She can’t even respond to that, just wraps her legs around him, makes him fuck her deeper. She’s clinging to his shoulders, nails digging in and she just wants more. She’s always liked it a little rough, likes to feel like she’s been fucked when it’s done, but this is different. This is desperate and needy and bittersweet, and everything about it is harder and sharper and rougher by necessity.

He grabs her hands, folding their fingers together and holds her arms above her head, rolls his hips until he’s grinding against her clit, and it’s so intense she almost wants to beg him to stop, but instead she finds herself begging for more. “David. David, don’t – h-holy fuck – don’t you dare stop,” and she doesn’t even recognize her voice anymore.

He kisses her then, bites down on her bottom lip, sucks it into his mouth and then tilts his head and goes at it from a different angle. He lets go of her hands and grabs her hips, angles them up. She catches him smirk when she gasps, moans too loudly.

“Cocky son of a bitch,” she barely manages to whisper, but she doesn’t really care, just wants him to keep going. And suddenly she’s falling apart, everything goes brighter, clearer and it feels like everything stops, and all she can hear is white noise. She barely registers she’s holding her breath, and as the first wave finally breaks, she inhales sharply, makes herself start breathing again.

Her legs are shaking around David, and his movements are erratic now, quicker, and she knows he’s close. He’s watching her intently, and their eyes meet and she can see the moment he tips over the edge, and it is the single hottest thing she’s ever watched. When he says her name, it’s barely even a sound, but she feels the syllables against her shoulder as he mouths it into her skin.

\--

They stay in bed most of the night, saying their farewells the best way they know how. This they always got right; this they know how to do. It’s an apology for all the other ways they failed each other, the future they sabotaged by being young and scared and selfish.

Maybe someday this thing between them will shift again. Maybe they’ll still manage to find their way back to what they could have been. Or maybe they won’t.

She says goodbye in the morning, and it’s finally without regret.


End file.
